


Crazy

by the_link_dock



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Annoying Jerome, Bruce just wants to go to class, Bruce says fuck, Bullying, Everyone Is Gay, Flirting, Green Eyes, Italics, Jeremiah is a dick, Jerome Valeska is Bad at Flirting, M/M, Nerd Bruce Wayne, Nicknames, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Possessive Jeremiah Valeska, Young Bruce Wayne, cursing, gratuitous uses of ‘fuck’, high school setting, jerome is an Asshole, smol Bruce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_link_dock/pseuds/the_link_dock
Summary: Y’know how when you’re describing someone, you might say “they’re crazy”?That adequately summarises the Valeska twins. And not in a quirky “got a nose piercing, shaved your head” crazy. More of a “built a firework to see if it would explode in the teacher’s lounge” crazy.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 24
Kudos: 131





	1. Gym Class

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t decided if jerome/bruce is endgame or not

Y’know how when you’re describing someone, you might say “they’re crazy”?

That’s exactly how Bruce Wayne would describe the Valeska twins, Jerome and Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah hadn’t seemed crazy at first, but the more Bruce talked with him, the more he realised Jeremiah was a different brand of crazy. 

Jeremiah was the kind of crazy that seemed demented. He saw people as objects—stepping stones, not caring how damaged they got in his rise to the top. If Jeremiah said he was your friend, it usually ended up doing you more harm than good. 

Of course, because Jeremiah seemed meek and genuine, you never noticed it until it was too late. And typically the damage was to other relationships, and the “friend” often blamed themselves and not the true culprit, Jeremiah. 

Bruce had seen too many people lose their friends and themselves in the enigma that was Jeremiah Valeska. 

Jerome, on the other hand, was just flat out psycho. He once got in school suspension because he started a fire in the teachers lounge and broke the door knob so the teachers couldn’t get out. 

Since no one could prove Jerome was the one responsible, and because and no one got seriously hurt, they couldn’t expel him. It was pure luck that the principal saw him walking away from the scene of the crime while tossing his lighter up and catching it. 

Bruce knew all of the details; he was the resident computer nerd and could hack into the school’s mainframe like their password was ‘password’. One of them was. 

Bruce kept tabs on every notable student at Gotham Academy. 

Edward Nygma was an acquaintance of his that excelled in science and was already taking college courses. He didn’t have many friends, other than an outcasted ‘emo’ kid, Oswald. 

Ed was actually really nice, if socially inept. He talked to fast and asked a bunch of riddles that had a tendency to piss people off. 

Oswald was almost definitely part of some underground gang, but not even Bruce could find any concrete evidence of it. 

Oswald was like a cross breed of preppy and emo. He was the type to wear a checkered scarf and two different belts, but since the academy had a strict dress code, Bruce wasn’t able to prove it. 

It didn’t matter, Bruce was one of the younger students, and everyone of ‘importance’, as Headmaster Gordon would say, were in the upper years, like the Valeska twins. 

They were two years away from graduating while Bruce was only a sophomore because he tested out of the freshman classes. 

Jim Gordon was a close friend of Bruce’s dad. When Thomas Wayne died, he left Bruce a company to run as well as a large sum of money that paid for his tuition at Gotham Academy. 

Bruce could almost certainly attend the school for free on a scholarship, but he didn’t want to take that opportunity away from a student who needed it, like Nygma. 

Back to the twins. Because Bruce was technically a year behind them, he didn’t have any core classes with them. Unfortunately, electives weren’t optional or separated by age. 

Bruce had art with both of the Valeskas and P. E. with Jerome. 

Those were his least favourite subjects. Not necessarily _because_ of them, but they certainly didn’t help. 

The twins didn’t pay much attention to him; why would they? He wasn’t special by their standards in that he wasn’t a follower of theirs nor was he crazy. But when they did, they weren’t exactly nice. 

Bruce wouldn’t say they were bullies—or at least, he wasn’t being bullied by them. Mainly, they gave him nicknames that weren’t meant to hurt his feelings. 

_Technically_ they were bullies, but because Bruce would rather they do it to him than someone else, he tolerated it. It’s not like they’d physically assaulted him. 

They gave him nicknames and not exactly mean ones. A bunch of the students just called him “billionaire brat”, but that started before the twins arrived. 

Jerome called him Brucie, Brucie Boy, Conquistador, Little Conquistador, Brown Eyes, and most recently; Bambi. 

Bruce could tolerate most of them, but he hated being belittled. Bambi was a cute name, and Bruce hates to think of himself as cute. He didn’t want to be scary (just a little intimidating) he just wanted to be seen as a normal guy. A normal, masculine guy. 

Bambi was what you called your girlfriend if she had big eyes and was soft and sweet. 

Bruce didn’t _want_ to be soft and sweet. He didn’t want to be hard and vulgar either. Bruce wanted to be seen as rough but calm. 

Too bad that fucking Jerome was bigger and tougher than Bruce was. 

Bruce could still remember when Jerome first called him that. 

It was in gym class, Jerome had been paired with Bruce because obviously no one wanted to pair up with the fucking crazy kid and no one really talked to Bruce. 

They were doing push-ups and sit-ups to warm up when Jerom said it. 

Bruce had tried to hold Jerome’s feet down as the red head did sit-up, but Bruce hadn’t been able to fucking press down hard enough. 

“Jesus, Bambi, just put your knees on my feet and use your body weight.”

Of course, Bruce immediately protested. 

“Who the fuck are you calling Bambi, douchebag. I seem to remember you walking like a fucking baby deer more than me.” Bruce grit his teeth as he put his knees on Jerome’s feet and put his hands on Jerome’s knees and decided to keep his focus on holding Jerome down. 

Jerome gave a raspy laugh, “That’s cause I get high as a kite regularly, Bambi.”

Bruce flushed, “How about you shut the fuck up?”

Jerome smiled, “Ooh, Bambi’s got a mouth on him.”

Bruce glared down at Jerome but decided not to dignify it with a response. 

After five more reps, they had to switch. 

Bruce shuddered when Jerome grabbed his ankles, “I don’t think that’ll be very effective.”

Jerome hummed for him to elaborate. 

“You’re supposed to hold my fucking feet down not grab my ankles.”

Jerome snorted, “I don’t think I’ll have much of a problem.”

Bruce put his hands behind his head and pursed his lips. He kicked his left leg and easily shook free of Jerome’s hold. Jerome squeezed his other leg and laughed. Bruce felt his smirk fade quickly. 

When he put his foot back down on the ground, Jerome held his ankle tighter. 

Jerome grinned at him with a wide crazy smile. “Try it again. I dare ya.”

Bruce looked away and started doing his twenty sit-ups. They were really supposed to do ten, but Coach Harvey was crazy. 

Not in a Valeska way. In a normal, my coach is overweight but makes us do extra work, way. 

Bruce could tell Jerome was staring him down, so he kept his eyes on his legs and mentally counted. 

By ten he began to lose momentum and by fifteen he was struggling not to make any noises. 

Jerome could tell he was struggling, “I bet if you did more of these you’d be able to hold me down.”

Bruce glared at him as he went back down and huffed our, “Shut the fuck up.”

Jerome sucked in a breath, “Such bad language for such a small lad!”

Bruce rolled his eyes but finished his rep. 

When he went down after finishing, he closed his eyes and focused on not panting in an embarrassing way. 

He felt Jerome’s thumb rub against the skin on his leg. 

“Take your fucking hands off me before you lose them.” Bruce said tiredly, not bothering to look at the red head. 

Bruce jolted and his eyes flew open when a warm hand caressed his calf and gave a brief squeeze. 

“I swear to god—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Coach Harvey blew his whistle and made everyone huddle up to tell them they were playing dodgeball. 

Fucking wonderful. 


	2. Dodgeball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven’t played dodge ball in almost ten years, so if it seems lame give me a break
> 
> also, i’m writing this on my phone so feel free to POLITELY point out capitalisation errors or typos :)

In case you didn’t know, Bruce fucking hated dodge ball.

They used the old fashion rubber balls that left red marks and had that sound the echoed in Bruce’s head every time he heard the word.

And fuck did he suck at dodgeball.

Bruce was quick on his feet—he ran track before high school—but his aim was shit and when he caught a ball he didn’t know what to do with it.

His goal was usually to get out before it got to serious; there were some beefy guys on his team and he knew they’d be just fine without his useless ass slowing them down.

But fuck, the way Jerome stared him down from across the room got Bruce’s heart racing and his stomach twisting.

Up close, Jerome’s eyes were a greenish-blue colour, but from across the room they were dark and held a promise that he was coming for Bruce, and Jerome was a fucking sadist so Bruce couldn’t just get a light tap and be out.

Jerome was going to fucking launch a dodge ball and aim for Bruce’s head.

Fuck a duck, dodgeball sucks.

The balls were placed on the half court line of the gym and the teams were divided by random assignment.

Bruce’s team had Butch; a huge guy who was fucking terrifying if you didn’t know him. He could definitely pack a punch and deliver some solid hits, but he was much too big of a target. He’d be out within the first two minutes.

For once, Bruce wished it was a co-ed class. Most of the girls were very athletic and could annihilate anyone who opposed them.

Bruce was jerked out of his thoughts when Bullock blew the whistle. Bruce, and many of the other small guys, hung in the back while the others rushed to the half line and started rolling balls on their side.

He saw Jerome clutch a ball between his hands and Bruce toed over to hide behind Butch.

Jerome struck out freshman, Martin, with a sickening slap that rang out.

“Yer out!” Coach Bullock yelled, sitting on his fat ass while kids were demolished.

Bruce held back a sneer and ducked as a ball flew over his head.

Tetch, on Jerome’s team, was struck out with a ball to the gut. Bruce held back a sympathetic wince and grimaced instead.

He danced to the side and jerked his leg up in time to avoid a hit.

“Nice hustle, Zsasz!” Coach yelled.

Fuck, Bruce didn’t even notice him. Zsasz was not a jock, or even athletic by any means, by his aim could make him a military sniper.

As Bruce predicted, Butch was out before the second minute was up.

Now his team was composed of a bunch of no name losers and a basketball player named Jones.

Zsasz through a hit and Bruce caught it yelling, “Butch!”

Bullock clapped his hands, “Nice, Wayne! Nice!”

Butch hauled himself off the bench and gave a heavy pat to Bruce’s shoulder and took the ball from him, getting a hit on two more of Jerome’s team just as Jerome took out a kid on Bruce’s.

Not ten seconds later, Butch took out another kid and Jerome took out two more on their team.

Then, Jerome caught Butch’s fucking ball and called Zsasz back.

Two verses one.

Fucking Zsasz and Jerome verses Bruce.

They had seven balls on their side and Bruce had five.

Bruce ignore his shaking hand and blamed it on adrenaline when he picked up a ball and held it with both hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered quietly, watching as Jerome grabbed a ball with a dark grin.

Zsasz stayed pretty neutral as he grabbed a ball in each hand.

They attacked at the same time and Bruce ducked and dodged and lifted his leg and blocked a hit with his dodgeball.

His team members when cheering him on, sort of. They rallied when he didn’t get hit, but with Zsasz as the opposition, there was little to no hope that Bruce would win.

Jerome gave a rapid fire of three balls and Bruce ran to the side in avoidance and cursed as he almost got hit by Zsasz’s ball.

“Come on, Bruce! We don’t have all damn day!” Bullock yelled.

“You heard the man, Brucie. Hit me with your best shot!”

Bruce glared and kicked a ball to their side, aiming it more towards Zsasz that Jerome.

Zsasz threw the ball right at Bruce’s chest, and Bruce dropped his ball and caught the other one.

“Zsasz, you’re out! Butch, sit back down! This is a shoot out!”

Bruce cursed as Jerome grinned.

Shoot outs meant you could fucking go wherever the fuck you want. Jerome ran across the half line and towards where the dodge balls had gathered and Bruce took off in the other direction, making sure to never turn his back.

“Jesus—FUCKING—christ!” Bruce yelled as he ducked and ran faster.

“Come on, Brucie, stop running!” Jerome yelled as he launched another ball.

Bruce tossed his ball at Jerome, praying the ginger would catch it and it would be over.

Jerome side stepped it with a grin and Bruce came to a stop as the two eyed each other.

Bruce bent his knees in preparation to run and watched Jerome with wide eyes.

Jerome edged his way closer and Bruce matched his pace by backing up.

Jerome darted forward and hit Bruce with a rubber ball to the gut.

It knocked the wind out of him the moment it landed, but Bruce was able to hold tight to it before he doubled over.

Bullock blew the whistle and declared his team as the winner.

Bruce tried to get his breathing back to normal as his team clapped his back and congratulated him.

Bruce didn’t feel much like a winner. In the end, Jerome still got him.

And fucking _god_ it hurt.

Bullock told them to hit the showers before a second game could start, getting several groans and relieved sighs.

The locker room was a cursed place. Bruce could usually get by without showering after gym, but not after dodgeball.

He stripped off his shirt and saw his stomach was still red from where Jerome got him.

Zsasz slammed the locker next to his, already naked and in a towel. “Not bad, Wayne.”

Bruce nodded in thanks as he stuffed his sweaty shirt into his locker.

Jerome was shoved Tetch with a loud laugh and went to his locker next to Bruce’s. Fuck the alphabetical order.

“Nice tum, Bambi.” Jerome said with a leer, tugging off his own shirt.

Bruce felt his face heat up but scoffed instead. “Just because you’re ripped like a library book—“

“I meant the redness, Brucie boy. But thanks for the compliment.”

Bruce scowled and tugged his shorts off quickly and pulled a towel over his junk before Jerome could see him. He stuffed his bottoms into his locker and wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Hmm, nice ass,” Jerome commented, pulling his own shorts down much slower than Bruce.

Bruce levelled him with a glare, maintaining eye contact and ignoring the heat on his cheeks as Jerome stood in all his naked glory, not making any move for his towel.

“Go fuck yourself,” Bruce hissed before slamming his locker and twisting the lock and storming off to the showers.

Yes, it’d be nice if they had stalls but Bruce just thanked god that there were curtains separating them.

He did a quick rinse and soaped himself off and was done in under five minutes.

He dried himself off as best he could with his already damp towel and went back to his locker, dodging a few towel snaps on the way.

He gave a quick glance behind him and pulled on his boxers while keeping the towel around his waist.

While he struggled to pull the rest of his clothes out of his back pack, the bell rang signalling the first lunch, which coincidentally was Bruce’s.

Bruce cursed and yanked out his shirt and let it fall to the floor.

“Why’re ya in such a rush, Brucie?” Jerome asked as he saddled next to Bruce.

“I have fucking lunch and I don’t want to miss it. Again,” he hissed.

Jerome shrugged and opened his locker, giving a light groan as his clothes spilled out. Bruce pulled his slacks out with a triumphant huff and yanked his towel off and hung it on his locker hook.

He hopped into one leg and struggled with the other, crashing against Zsasz locker at one point.

He got his undershirt from his back pack and grabbed his button up from the pile of clothes before tossing his back pack over his shoulder and leaving before Jerome could harass or distract him.

He slid the button up in as he walked through the gym, not noticing it was bigger than usual until he had it buttoned all the way and was in the cafeteria.

Fuck all, it was Jerome’s shirt.


	3. Jeremiah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a run-in with a twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s been a while

The way Bruce saw it, he had two options. 

Burn the fucking shirt or fucking burn the shirt. 

But he couldn’t just, fucking burn the fucking shirt or he’d be left half-fucking-naked. 

Which left him with more realistic option three: track down Jerome and somehow convince the red head to give Bruce his fucking shirt back. 

Bruce still had to get lunch, so while he waited in line, he fiddled with the cuffs of the sleeves with a scowl. 

_This shirt is fucking huge, how the fuck did I mix these up?_

The thought did make his lips work into a smile at the mental image of Jerome struggling to fit into Bruce’s shirt, but that ultimately led Bruce to frown again at the reminder that Jerome was so much _bigger_. 

_It’s only because he’s fucking older and gets into fucking fights._

Bruce stared at his—Jerome’s—shirt sleeve and wiggles his wrist with a flat sigh to get move the cuff from covering his hand. 

Bruce grabbed a tray and shuffled through the line and paid for his meal. He went off to the side to grab a handful of napkins before he wrapped his burger and put it in his messenger bag for later. 

He grabbed a couple of ketchup packets and dumped the rest of the food on his tray in the trash before leaving the lunchroom to track down a Valeska. 

Looking for a Valeska never led to anything good. 

* * *

Bruce was panting slightly and growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of Jerome. 

He usually popped up fucking _everywhere_ , how could Bruce not fucking find him now?

 _Fucking christ, of course he’s no where to be seen when I need to see him._

Jerome wasn’t in the gym or the locker room, he wasn’t behind the school with his usual group of friends— _followers_ —and he wasn’t getting high in the bathroom. 

Bruce was about to give up and go to his english class when, lo-and-behold, a familiar ginger was strolling down the halls ahead of him without a care in the world. 

Actually, it was less of a stroll and more of a swagger that made Bruce grit his teeth at the blatant arrogance. 

Bruce’s rage sparked into a fire and he marched after Jerome with a snarl. 

“Hey, jackass!”

Jerome stopped immediately and Bruce stormed up to him to demand his shirt back but when the red head turned around Bruce immediately backed up. 

Fuck a duck it was _not_ Jerome. 

In Bruce’s opinion it was _so much_ worse. 

“Oh, shit, fuck, my bad. Thought you were your brother, I’ll just go—“

Jeremiah cut him off, “Why do you have Jerome’s shirt on, Bruce?”

Jeremiah had an unsettling way of saying Bruce’s name. He often whispered it as if Bruce’s name was to be cherished and it made Bruce shiver in discomfort. 

Jeremiah was a _master_ manipulator. Jerome was dangerous but clear about it. Jerome _liked_ to be seen as an apex predator. 

Jeremiah was infinitely more subtle and attacked only when you were already talked within his attention and clutches. 

Bruce’s face flushed and he swallowed, “I dropped my shirt and his fell out of his locker, I grabbed his on accident.”

Jeremiah tilted his head but kept his stare on Bruce without blinking. “That is unfortunate.”

Jeremiah had a way of annunciating his words that made him sound pretentious in a way that he didn’t physically present himself.

Bruce knew that Jeremiah saw himself as a different entity that the other teenagers here. To be fair, Jeremiah was most definitely the most intelligent person here, and not excluding teachers.

Jeremiah’s eyes were unsettling, just like the rest of him. They were wide and had clear rings around his irises that made them seem bigger than they should be. 

The twins’ eyes were one of the ways to tell them apart. 

Both of their eyes were green, but Jerome’s eyes were a dark green that were shadows enough to look dark brown. 

Jeremiah’s were an unnatural green that seemed to be luminous in how light they were. It was a very pale colour, similar to mint green, but paler still. 

Jeremiah rarely blinked. 

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek and looked around for an out of this uncomfortable conversation. 

“Right, well, I’ve got to get to class—“

“I know where he is.” Jeremiah cut him off again. 

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Where...Jerome is?”

Jeremiah gave a sharp smile and Bruce looked away uncomfortably and made a face as if he were Jim on the Office. 

“Yes, Jerome texted me in need of a shirt less than thirty minutes ago.”

Bruce nodded, “That would make sense.”

A minute of silence passed and Bruce wondered if he could just walk away. 

“I could take you to him.”

 _That’s a huge heap of fuck no_. 

Bruce may not be Jeremiah-smart, but he was not a fucking idiot. 

Already it was dangerous to be alone with _one_ Valeska, but _two?_ With no witnesses?

 _Fuck. That._

“Ah, no, thanks, though. I do have to go to class. I’ll just—give it to him later.”

Or fucking burn it. 

Jeremiah’s eyebrow twitched and Bruce swallowed as his body began to feel like a furnace under the intense stare Jeremiah was giving him. He had to get the fuck out of there. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go now. Thanks for the, offer, I guess.”

Then Bruce turned on his heel and walked back the way he came. 

His shoulders were tensed and he listened for any movement from Jeremiah—Bruce fucking hated having his back towards either of the twins but in this case it was unavoidable—and when Bruce finally rounded a corner his shoulders were able to drop and he breathed a sigh of release. 

_Fuck those guys._

Bruce would suffer through the day and deal with the discomfort of feeling like Jerome was all around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you find typos feel free to call me out on them


End file.
